How Not to Begin A Beautiful Friendship
by lilidelafield
Summary: This is the raw, un-extended and unedited version of my story "The I Have Your Back Affair" - as an embryo of the finished product, this one is a lot shorter, and quite different from how it eventually became. When I rediscovered it, I thought there are some who may well prefer this version. Please let me know what you think. The title tells you everything you need to know!


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This was the story I originally wrote, which was altered, extended and improved and eventually became "The I Have Your Back Affair" previously posted. I had completely forgotten about this version until I discovered it yesterday. I thought it might provide an interesting diversion for some to read the embryo of the finally finished product. I'd love to know what you think; especially if you are familiar with the final version of this tale.

How Not to Begin a Beautiful Friendship

A rough hand grabbed a handful of Napoleon's hair and yanked his head back so hard his eyes started to water.

"I have had enough of your defiance, Solo. You will tell us what we want to know or I will start to dismember you right here and now, whilst you are still alive. I will start by removing your toe-nails one by one, and then your finger nails, then I will cut off your toes and then your fingers. I have your teeth removed one by one until you decide to talk. We will shave half of your head, or perhaps it might be more fun to burn it off…? Yes, perhaps that would be a better way. Just to make sure that it never grows back. We will gouge out your eyes, but we'll do that last of all because you will need to see how hideous you are before it happens, so that it is the last thing you see."

Solo's heart froze at the words. He had never been more afraid. He had known all along that working for UNCLE could bring him to this sooner or later and he thought he had been ready for it. He had always believed that he was courageous enough to face whatever came without breaking, he just hoped he had been right. He sucked his lips and shook his head.

"I'm not telling you anything. You can damn well go to hell!"

The man leered, showing broken and chipped teeth.

"Somehow I hoped you would have that attitude. It makes what happens next so much more satisfying,"

Suddenly Solo was alone, but not for long. Just five minutes later, the door swung open again and two pairs of heavy footsteps approached. A heavy blindfold was forced across his face, covering his eyes and most of his face, and his bonds were loosened then retied even more securely than before. He felt his shoes and socks being ripped off him and his left foot was grabbed roughly by the heel. Solo gritted his teeth for what was to follow.

When they were gone, Solo shuddered in pain. They had followed through on their threat and removed all of his toenails one by one, taking their time about it as was perhaps not as painful as some torture he had endured in the past… until of course, they had put his socks back on, where the cotton rubbed and snagged against the raw flesh and blood of his toes. Stuffing his feet back into his shoes had been so agonising that he had eventually passed out with the pain. Now he had come round again but the pain in his feet was growing, rather than lessening.

Was there any hope of rescue? He couldn't help wondering. If he had had a partner, he might have been able to rely on his partner to get help for him, but Solo's previous partners had either been killed through their own foolishness or had been unable to keep up the pace and left. Either left for a different section within UNCLE or left the organisation altogether. In his years with UNCLE, Napoleon had had seven different partners, and none of them had lasted for more than a few weeks. Recently he had grown fond and truth be told, rather talented at working alone. There were times though, like now, when a partner would have been very nice. He just hoped when it came to it, he would be able to retain a little dignity, whether they killed him or just mutilated him.

He had managed to get a call out to Waverly before he had stowed away in that plane, and he hoped that Waverly had managed to have the plane tracked, but it was a thin hope really. He could be anywhere in the world by now, and UNCLE realistically would have no way of finding him unless he could get some other kind of signal out. These sadistic THRUSHes had removed and destroyed his communicator box almost before anything else. They had even found and removed the tracer from his teeth. There was nothing left on him now that they had not looted and destroyed. All that was left was he himself. They appeared quite prepared now to take him apart literally piece by piece.

Napoleon tried to sleep, but sleep was not forthcoming. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he was afraid. Very afraid. More afraid than he ever remembered being before. He waited in the dark, with just the pain in his feet and the silence for company, dreading the sound of footsteps approaching.

Some two hours later the door of his cell was opened. The blindfold was removed from his face and three men were standing over him. One was the original thug who had been torturing him before. The other he had caught a quick glimpse before the blindfold had been put on was presumably the one responsible for ripping off all his toe-nails. The third was a man he had not seen before. Danger radiated from every pore. He was small and slight in stature, with light brown hair and a goatee beard. His icy blue eyes seemed to bore right through Napoleon to his collarbone. His face carried an expression compounding of arrogance and contempt.

"This is the one causing you trouble is it? I know this man." He spoke English in a thick German accent.

His companions seemed surprised,

"You know him sir?"

"His face is well known at THRUSH Central. This is the great Napoleon Solo of UNCLE… They have been trying to get their hands on this one for a while. My opinion of you fools here in Russia has increased slightly."

Solo watched the young man circle him, contempt and hatred painted across the stranger's face.

"What are your plans for him?"

"We pulled his toe-nails off. You should have heard him yelling sir. But he hasn't said anything. Not yet, but he will."

The young man shook his head.

"This man is UNCLE. They are trained to resist anything you might do to him. Torture, dismemberment or even death will not make him talk. Especially not this one. Do you think there isn't anything you can do to this one that hasn't been tried before?"

His companions seemed confused.

"You said Central has been looking for him for a long time."

"He has been captured many times before, but he has always escaped or been rescued before Central were able to get their hands on him. He has been a thorn in the side of THRUSH for too long. I am empowered to take him with me to THRUSH Central where they have a very special reception prepared for him. You men will be rewarded for your good work here."

The men looked disappointed.

"You're going to take him away before we even get the chance to play with him again? I was looking forward to hearing him screaming again."

The large man, whom had been guilty of ripping away the prisoner's toe-nails cracked his knuckles.

"This man is not nearly subdued enough yet sir and you know that as well as I do. If he is left as he is he will escape as soon you get him outside. As you say, these UNCLE types are incorrigible. Why don't you take the lead sir? We've heard that no officer from Central would dream of leaving an UNCLE agent un-tickled!"

Solo shuddered, knowing the dark hidden meaning behind the man's use of the word `tickle'.

The young man nodded. He knew this was true. No self -respecting THRUSH officer would leave an UNCLE man to these fools, and only a fool would attempt to remove a man as dangerous as Napoleon Solo without making sure he was well and truly beaten and cowed. He pursed his lips, then nodded, an evil smile curling his mouth that made his two companions shiver.

"I brought with me a straight-jacket trolley. Fetch it now and wait outside the door with it until I am ready. I will perform this one myself. I am ready for a little bit of exercise and diversion. I have not had the chance to get in any practise for a while. This is the perfect opportunity."

Eagerly, the two men rushed away. When they were gone, the young man rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pulled a whip out of his trousers. He approached Solo and leaned in close,

"I have to make this look good and you have to make it sound good."

His German accent was gone, replaced by a gentle Russian accent and perfect English.

"I need to hurt you enough to draw blood. When they come back they need to hear you screaming. Hold this in your mouth but do not bite down until I give you the nod. It will render you unconscious for about twenty minutes. By the time you wake up I should have you out of here. Forgive me for the whip, but it is necessary. I will not hurt you any more than I can help."

The young man pushed a small capsule into Solo's mouth, which he held in his cheek where he knew it would remain unbroken until he was ready for it. Next the young man pulled out a small syringe and injected something into Solo's left arm.

"This is just something to help with the pain I am about to inflict on you. Remember I will draw blood. You need to scream."

Solo's mind was in a whirl. This man must be UNCLE, but who was he and how did he know Solo was here? He gritted his teeth once more. The young man removed Napoleon's shoes and socks, and raised the foot of his table so that his head was pointing down and his feet were in the air. Carefully, the young man started whipping the prisoner soundly on the soles of his feet, and his ankles. It was excruciating and Solo found himself screaming in agony for real. He could feel blood both from his toes and from the new injuries running down, or rather, up his legs. The young man was very efficient in the use of the whip, and seemed to know exactly how hard to use it to produce the most amount of blood and pain with the least amount of personal effort. After half a dozen strikes, Solo could hear the sounds of the other men returning, even over the sound of his own screams. His tormentor caught his eye and nodded. Solo screamed louder than before and then bit down hard on the capsule he had been given….and everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he was aware of was someone was carefully tending to his feet, cleaning his wounds with infinite gentleness and binding them up with soft bandages. He was in pain, but perhaps the injection he had been given was helping him for he did not seem to be in quite as much pain as he had expected. He looked around. He seemed to be in the back of some kind of vehicle. The face of the young man from the cell appeared before him again with a solemn expression.

"Mr. Solo? UNCLE Moscow. Please forgive me for torturing you further back there, but without it I assure you I would have never been able to get you out of there. As you know, no THRUSH officer would have turned down such an opportunity to put you down and if I had refused, I would have attracted suspicion."

Solo struggled to sit up. The young man reached forward and helped him. Solo eyed the young man warily.

"I never expected to be rescued or even found this time. I was convinced that I was a goner. How did you know I was there?"

The young man looked uncomfortable.

"Mr. Waverly, section one, New York contacted international tracking for an airplane he suspected was carrying THRUSH contraband and an undercover UNCLE agent requesting a follow and extraction detail. We tracked the plane and I was put in command of the team to follow the birdies on foot, find you where you were being held and rescue you and destroy the bird nest."

"You got me out of there well enough. You destroyed the nest as well?"

"Yes. No one will come back to that satrap again. I have a little skill with… ahh… explosives you see." The man gave a self-conscious cough. "By the way Mr. Solo." He started pulling at his beard and his brown hair to reveal a very pale, clean-shaven face and bright blond hair. "My name is Kuryakin. Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin."

Alexander Waverly, chief of UNCLE headquarters, New York tapped a file in front of him.

"We need to find you a partner Mr. Solo. It is against UNCLE policy for any section 2 agent to work alone all the time."

"But sir…"

Waverly shook his head.

"I know, son. Nine men now have failed to live up to your standards."

"They must all think I'm bad luck for partners, sir. I would rather work alone than risk killing another man."

"Nonsense Mr. Solo." His boss replied firmly. "We simply haven't found the right man yet…but I believe now I have. Someone who is skilled in what he does, who has absolutely nothing to prove, will not be worried about trying to impress anyone, you or anyone else, and has also been having trouble finding and keeping a partner."

"Sounds like you already have someone in mind sir."

"I do indeed Mr. Solo. It has taken a little while to sort out, but he is transferring to New York from the Moscow HQ at the end of the week. I need you to find him an office, temporary accommodation and pick him up at the airport at nine a.m Friday morning."

Solo was surprised.

"A transfer from Moscow, sir? A Russian agent here in New York eh? Well from what I recall of the team I encountered in Moscow, they are a good bunch of men."

Waverly nodded.

"Yes, you spent three weeks with the HQ in Moscow about nine months ago, so you will be familiar with our new man. As he is going to be your new partner, perhaps you can tell me your own impressions of him."

Solo took the file from his boss and looked at the picture on the front cover. He frowned and looked up.

"This man? This is the man you're bringing over here?"

"He is their number three, he led the assault team that freed you from the THRUSH satrap that held you prisoner, and by your own admission, he succeeded in rescuing you when you were convinced it would have been impossible. He has an impressive list of skills and accomplishments…"

"Sir, he tortured me!"

"Mr. Solo, by your own admission…"

"I don't give a…." Solo broke off, stopping himself just in time from saying something he would have instantly regretted. He had been impressed with the blond young Russian himself at the time, but he had found it difficult to get past the bare fact that he had been whipped on the soles of his already seriously injured feet by a fellow UNCLE agent. An agent who had seemed to think that everything would thereafter be fine with the American based on the fact that he had saved his life. Waverly waited for Solo to stop pacing and silently gestured for the CEA to sit. Solo took his seat once more.

"I'm sorry Mr. Waverly."

"Mr. Solo… Napoleon, I have read your own report on that Russian Satrap affair in great detail, I have also read the medical reports by the medical team in Moscow, and Mr Kuryakin's own report on the incident. It would perhaps benefit you if you were to read his own report yourself. It will perhaps give you the man's own insights into what happened, and the reasons why he did things the way he did. However, the medical report on your condition stated that the damage that was done to your feet by Mr. Kuryakin was calculated to take the skin off you enough to make your feet bleed, but not to cut deeply. True, I have no doubt the pain was excruciating, but how long was it before you were able to put your weight on them?"

"Just two days actually, sir…"

"Just so. Two days and although your feet were still tender, you found no trouble walking on them. It took longer for the pain of your toes to subside I believe?"

Solo nodded.

"That's true sir."

"If he had chosen to use the whip on some other part of your anatomy, it would likely have been your back. You know how long that takes to heel…Mr Kuryakin was aware that with the injuries already inflicted on your toes, you would be a couple of days before you could walk in any case, and you would need to be able to lie comfortably on your back. Take this report back to your office and read it through carefully. You will learn in detail the reasons given for his actions on that day. When you are done, feel free to come back to my office and tell me what you would have done differently. Dismissed."

Solo took the file back to his own office half reluctantly and sat down to read. He knew that there was a risk, however slight, that reading this file might change his mind about the Russian Affair, as he had come to think of it, and he really didn't want to end up changing his mind about liking the young man who had saved him.

Although, in thinking about things honestly, Solo knew there was very little else he would have been able to do differently. He liked to think though that he would have been able to rescue a fellow UNCLE agent without resorting to torture! However, orders were orders… he opened the file and started to read.

The young Russian, he learned, had led his men through ten-feet-high snow drifts, following the flimsiest of directions and had managed to find and surround the THRUSH satrap without any THRUSHes finding out. He had learned somehow that a certain Colonel Wilhelm Von-steier had been due to arrive, and he had managed to intercept the man, and disguise himself so well that even Von-Steier's own aide had not known the difference.

Solo frowned as he read on. Von-Steier was well-known as being blood thirsty and sadistic, with a talent for getting what he wanted by any means possible. An ideal persona if you wished to remain unchallenged, but one which meant having to remain completely in character to avoid detection. Kuryakin had stated dryly in his report that if he had not shown eagerness to torture the American UNCLE agent, his persona would certainly have been penetrated, and he would have caused the deaths of himself and the prisoner, but also all of his men as well whom were waiting out in the snow for the two men to emerge to relative safety. He had gone to some pains in his report to explain the medical reasons for his choice of using the whip, and choosing the soles of the feet as his point of contact. It pretty much agreed with everything Mr. Waverly had said.

It was a good report, and Solo could see that, his own pain and anger aside, it showed the young Russian to be a highly talented young agent, able to lead men under difficult conditions, able to think on his feet and make difficult decisions in order to ensure his objective was carried out. What would it be like to have a man like that at his back? Would he feel able to trust him? He recalled the last time he had seen the young blond man. Kuryakin had been ordered to escort him to the airport and put him on the private UNCLE plane heading back to the States. Kuryakin had been straight-faced and serious the whole time. Solo had been cold and aloof. He could not remember even thanking the man for rescuing him. How old was this guy? He looked incredibly young; no more than about nineteen or twenty.

Solo put down the report and picked up the Russian's personal file. He was…twenty-two years old? He was twenty-two three months ago which meant he was only twenty-one when he had performed his rescue? Twenty-one years old and ordered to march into a THRUSH compound disguised as one of the enemy in order to try and rescue someone without being discovered? That would take a lot of courage. Perhaps there was more to this Illya Kuryakin than met the eye…

Illya Kuryakin sat in the interrogation room, silent and brooding, glaring at the security officer. His UNCLE identity card lay on the table in front of the them along with his UNCLE issue gun and passport, his wallet containing very little money and a faded photo of a young girl, all laid out across the table. The security officer leaned forward petulantly.

"I'll ask you again, where did you get this…this I.D card from?"

"I will answer you once only." Kuryakin replied, speaking in a totally straight and genuine sounding English accent. "That card belongs to me. It was issued to me because I am a section 2 agent for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. I am currently on my way to my new posting in New York City. I am sure you will find out for yourself if you call them. No doubt you will find them in Information!"

The security officer looked taken aback. The prisoner had spoken just three times so far. Once to confirm his name, which he had done in a damn Russian accent. The second to politely request that he ring UNCLE to confirm his identity he had spoken in a thick and guttural German accent, and now it was English. But he was definitely a Russkie. He had a Russian name and had flown in from Moscow. He couldn't wait for UNCLE to call back refusing any knowledge of this darned spy. He would enjoy locking him up for all the trouble he had caused. There was a knock on the door and the airport head of security walked in with a stranger in tow.

"Jack, this is Agent Napoleon Solo, from UNCLE."

Jack glanced at the Russian prisoner, waiting to see him deflate, but to his dismay, the Russian got to his feet immediately. Mr. Solo headed straight for the Russian and held out his hand, a sincere and pleasant smile on his face.

"Agent Kuryakin, it's good to see you again. I believe I owe you an apology for the last time we met. I was unnecessarily surly with you. I know it is very late, but I want to thank you right now for saving my life nine months ago."

Jack's mouth fell open.

"You mean…this guy was telling the truth? He really is an UNCLE agent?"

Solo's head whipped round and he fixed the security officer with a withering glare.

"Of course he is, can't you tell? This man is my partner and I expect him to be treated with respect. Now if you will return his belongings to him, we can return to work."

Outside in the car park, Solo turned to his companion who had been very quiet.

"Look, Mr. Kuryakin, I really meant what I said in there. I really am sorry for being so cool with you after you risked your life to rescue me."

A pair of icy-blue eyes regarded him for a moment.

"After all I was guilty of torturing you and adding to your pain. I have not forgiven myself for that, so I cannot possibly expect you to forgive me. I can only try to…" the soft Russian accent was filled with sorrow.

Solo placed a hand on the blond's shoulder.

"Hey, listen, I admit I was angry with you for the same reason, but do you know what made me realise that I was totally wrong?"

"What?"

"Mr Waverly ordered me to read your official report on the affair. That's when I realised how much you had at stake, and what would have happened if you had given in to pity. I also learned that you really do know your stuff well. Mr. Kuryakin, believe me when I say that I was wrong to be so upset with you, and I really do want to thank you for what you did…even the whipping. If you had done it anywhere else, I would have taken a lot longer to recover. I realise that now. I wish I could have realised it at the time. We might have been able to become friends."

For the first time, a tiny shy smile twitched the corner of Kuryakin's mouth.

"I have been told that you and I are to become partners. It would seem we will have plenty of time ahead of us to learn to become friends."

Solo loaded the Russian's few belongings into the trunk of the car and held the passenger door for the Russian to get in.

"To make it up to you, Illya, I want to buy you dinner tonight."

Illya nodded, his smile widening.

"I'll look forward to it, although you may find yourself regretting the offer."

"Why?"

Illya just smiled.


End file.
